samantha
by bonboo
Summary: umm its about a princess   reviews pleaz tell me what should happen nxt


Princess Samantha woke on top of the chilly mineral ground, moaning feebly. Sodden with sweat. The nightmare was waning; however the dismay of it remained.

Her brother was clawed.

Impulsively she knew it; just the same as she knew the nightmare had been genuine. It had now left her, recoiled, well-hidden under the pounding inside her skull. "Art, I'm sorry," she murmured, knowing she was to hold responsible although recalling not a thing.

A face peered downwards at her. She strained her neck to look. Her father. Silky fabric brushed her face, wiping her brow, the sweat from her lip. She struggled to move nonetheless couldn't.

Tears pooled within his eyes."You've come back to me. My precious girl."

You've come back to me? She blinked up at him, understanding nothing. He'd never wept, not that she knew. She felt one tear splash on the mineral floor beside her face, wishing for it to stop, concentrating on his chin instead. Two...three...four tears for Arthmael. They fed her fear.

"Art's dead" she whimpered

"Arthmael's alive."

"No. It's my fault."

He cleaned his eyes, and then looked over her face. "What do you recall, Sam?"

She opened her lips. But there were no words to describe it, only confusion. A vein in her temple thumped. She let her face spin back on the floor and closed her eyes to remember.

Tiles, chilly against her cheek. Nothing. Nightgown soggy with sweat. Nothing. Body shaking on the floor. Nothing.

She opened her eyes, attempting to focus. Chains clinked as she tried to move. The bedchamber floor was covered bloody paw prints. They gleamed in the dawn light.

"Blood." More the repugnant smell of it than the memory.

"Blood? Yes, Arthmael's. He stayed alive, Sam."

"No." On the contrary she desperately held onto his words. "Wh-what happened?"

"Wolves."

Wolves. Her first memory. Her mortal fear. These dark magic monsters had slain her mother.

She cried out. "They came back for me."

"Yes, Sam."

"But they g-got Art instead."

"He heard you shout."

"Let me see him." She struggled to sit up. Iron clanged. She raised her head to see her wrists and ankles loosely enfolded in chains. "What-tell me, what have I done?"

Her father busied himself untangling them. "You had a fit. You lashed about. I commanded for you to be put in chains to stop you hurting yourself."

A fit? Nothing was making sense. She sat up, massaging her pained, black and blue legs, focusing on the room. The wall lamps lay shattered. They'd been flung around, interlacing burning oil. The burn marks seemed like ice-skating trails across the white floor. Bedclothes lay scattered in burgundy-spattered tatters. More bloody paw prints danced around the wardrobe, which had been hauled across the room, all ten doors of it, and lay on its side through her shattered glass doors. Half of it lay in the garden beyond. How could wolves have come, and she lived? Arthmael, too? Such monsters were blood-crazed. Indestructible.

"They weren't meant to let me live," she sighed "Not if my amulet failed."

"They shall not destroy you." The King's voice was strong, as she had always known it, and Samantha's throbbing pulse slowed. "Sam, we must renew your amulet's magic. This morning I'll send an ambassador to the Sorcerer."

"Maybe this time...shouldn't i go, too?"

"No!" His eyes narrowed, suddenly severe. "Never imagine you'll ever leave this palace."

Samantha recoiled.

"I'm sorry, my little Sam." He cupped her elfin, almost child-like face in his scarred hands. "But you know Lord Redd's magic only protects you only within these palace walls. I've lost your dear mother. I won't lose you, too."

The summer sun had hardly come up, but the majority of the palace's servants were at work. As soon as her father gone, Samantha slipped into a dressing gown and poked her head into the passage. Guards had been positioned outside the chambers next door. They stood to attention, surprise glimmering across their faces, as she limped excruciatingly toward them. She knew she must look a worrying sight, her baby-fine ash hair tangled with blood, her feet bare, and her ankles aching. She hobbled past them and into her brother's bedchambers, nervous about what she might find.

Arthmael lay pallid and still, his eyes shut. The quilts had been drawn down, revealing his heavy arms and powerful chest. Dots of blood discoloured their paleness, as black yarn traced across his flesh, as if some naughty youngster had scrawled over him as he'd slept.

Pharmacist Yeoman curved across him, rubbing curative cream around the doctor's black stitches. Though his touch was light, her brother grunted.

He was alive. Samantha hadn't let herself to fully believe it till this moment. She crept closer. Not sure what to say, she shyly caressed his hand. His eyes opened. She leaned forward, daring a smile. He registered her slowly, and then his jaw stiffened in aggravation.

"Go away," he said tersely

It felt like a slap.

"I-I was concerned. I needed to see you're all right." She bit on her lip, flinching. Of course he was _not_ all right. "How-how are you, Art?"

"Scarred for life, thanks to you." Then he frowned, sharply drawing in breath. Talking appeared to cause him pain. Samantha flushed with guilt.

Pharmacist Yeomen spoke gently. "Prince, please remember none of this is your sister's fault." But Arthmael's accusation, his rare anger too, proved that it was.

"I...Please, Art, I'm so sorry."

He waited till the pharmacist's back was turned. "Why, in glory's name, weren't you wearing the amulet?" he snarled under his breath.

"But I never take it off." She yanked out a pearl string from around her neck, eager to prove herself. Cupping her hands so that only he might see, she revealed the disc of fiery opal set in gold.

"Then why-?" His face twisted up and he growled through clenched teeth after some seconds the pain seemed to ease. "Well, it didn't work last night, did it?"

"I'm sorry, OK! Stop making me feel worse!" and with that she stormed out of the room.


End file.
